


The Many Struggles of Brad Colbert

by luciferinasundaysuit



Category: Generation Kill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:44:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferinasundaysuit/pseuds/luciferinasundaysuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad really hates country music, but not for the reasons people might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Many Struggles of Brad Colbert

Brad tells everyone he hates country music, and he does, with all the passion of a thousand wildfires hell-bent on mayhem and destruction. People assume that the origin of his hatred lies in finding country music twangy and retarded and annoying, which isn't entirely true. He's indifferent to most country music, and some actually sounds like something approaching decent. 

Many songs are ridiculous bullshit manufactured by the commercial machine that is the music industry, intentionally preying on the regional pride and traditions of whiskey-tango fucks like Ray Person, but the shit that Gunny Wynn hums when he thinks nobody's paying attention doesn't completely offend all of Brad's sensibilities. Gunny's actually got a damn good voice, but not as good as Nate's.

No, the reason that Brad hates country music is because that shit has the ability to call you out on your bullshit like no other genre can even dream of doing. He used to think that blues music was like a punch in the gut, but in terms of inflicting emotional pain, country music dragged the blues out back, kicked its ass, and then laughed at it for crying like a little bitch.

Telling Ray that he isn't allowed to sing songs that remind Brad of his secret pain isn't something that Brad could ever live down, so he had long since instituted a moratorium on all country music. Walt, however, introduced a new problem in Brad's master plan to avoid feeling anything he doesn't have to. Walt's singing voice is actually highly enjoyable to listen to, unlike Ray's screeching like a dying cat in a washing machine. However, a good ninety percent of the songs that Walt knows the words to are country songs. So, Brad lets him sing country music every once in a while, solely to preserve the sanity of everyone in the vehicle by giving them a respite from the musical stylings of Josh Ray Person, and he pays for it every damn time.

Today, Brad grants Walt the rare opportunity to sing country music solely to stop Ray's fifth rendition of "Ice, Ice, Baby." Everything starts off well enough. Walt's voice rings out clear and deep.

"There's a stranger in my house, somebody here that I can't see, a stranger in my house, somebody here tryin' to take her away from me."

Ray's cracking up over the fact that, of all the singers in Nashville, someone, somewhere, had decided to pitch a song with the line "somebody here that I can't see" to Ronnie Millsap, a blind man. It's ironic and vaguely amusing, Brad thinks, but nowhere near as amusing as Ray seems to think it is.

Then, Walt starts the next song, and everything goes to shit.

"I saw you staring at each other, I saw your eyes begin to glow, and I could tell you once were lovers, you ain't hiding nothing I don't know."

Damned if that doesn't hit a little close to home. He and Nate aren't lovers - fuck, he hates that word - but that's most of the problem, isn't it? Brad knows that Ray knows, observant little fucker, and Mike knows because he's like a damn Texan Jedi when he wants to be. Not that there's anything to know - yet, he thinks, hopes - but the thought that someone else, someone who isn't one of them, someone who could ruin their careers, could notice, well, he prefers not to think about it at all, especially because Nate would almost definitely play the self-sacrificing martyr card, and damned if Brad would let him.

Brad grits his teeth and lets Walt finish the song, hoping the next one isn't such a punishment from the universe. Fuck seeing men in the trees, this is true Iceman shit.

"Come on somebody, why don't you run, Ole Red's itchin' to have a little fun, get my lantern, get my gun, Red'll have you treed 'fore the mornin' come."

Well, that's approaching redneck bullshit, but it's not like a dull dagger cutting into his entrails, so he lets it go.

"Uncle Sam put your name at the top his list, and the statue of liberty started shaking her fist, and the eagle will fly, and it's gonna be hell when you hear Mother Freedom start ringing her bell, and it'll feel like the whole wide world is rainin' down on you, brought to you courtesy of the red, white, and blue."

Brad rolls his eyes, but he doesn't have to say anything. Ray takes care of it for him. 

"Walt, you're pretty, and I love you, but man, you've gotta stop with that cheesy moto bullshit. I don't care that the Commandant of the Marine Corps told Toby Keith that it was his patriotic duty to record that damn song, it's still cheesy as fuck, and I don't want to hear it while I'm trying to loot and pillage an ancient civilization."

Well, Brad wasn't going to say anything, but now he has to. 

"Ray, the fact that you know the Commandant's opinion on that song is sadder than the fact that Walt's singing it."

"Whatever, man, it was on the news and shit. At least I don't know the fuckin' words."

Trombley pipes up from the backseat. 

"Hey, I like that song."

Brad looks up at Walt. "I rest my case."

Walt smirks down at him. "Fine, I'll sing something else."

Ray starts laughing, and everyone turns to look at him.

"Ray, what the fuck?"

"Homes, Reporter's writing down everything we say, and now the Commandant's gonna know that we think he has shit taste in music."

"Ray, shut up and let Walt sing. Reporter, try not to ruin our careers. Trombley, I see that dog. Don't shoot it."

Brad hears Reporter's muffled laughter and Trombley's petulant "Yes, Sergeant," and he knows Ray's only quiet because he's putting dip in, but he'll take what he can get.

Walt's voice washes over his ears.

"Cause the heart won't lie, sometimes life gets in the way, but there's one thing that won't change, I know, I've tried, the heart won't lie, you can live your alibi, who can see you're lost inside a foolish disguise, the heart won't lie."

Motherfucker. Brad's pretty sure he just got called out by Reba fucking McEntire. Like he needs another reminder that, his military career and Nate's political aspirations be damned, this isn't going away. He knows that Nate would choose him over a possible political career, and he's pretty much standing between himself and what he wants, but the Corps is part of him, but so is Nate, now, and fuck this fucking song.

"Walt, this song is straight up homosexual, special Olympics gay. Sing something else."

"Okay, Brad."

"The smile on your face lets me know that you need me, there's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me, a touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall, yeah, you say it best, when you say nothing at all."

Sometimes you just can't fucking win.


End file.
